A Little More Street Magic
by Khiori
Summary: Zatanna spends a day away from the stage. (Takes place before my story A Moment of Magic)


She rarely did street magic these days.

Her father had been primarily an illusionist and the stage was his home.

He delighted in everything about it from the heavy crimson velvet curtains to the worn golden feel of aging hard wood floors beneath his polished black shoes.

He loved the way the lights played mischief with his audience, cloaking them in intimate mysterious shadows all the while slyly helping him to trick them in the seeming revelation of their brightness.

He had joy in listening to a once still mundane theatre come alive with gasps and awe and thunderous applause as his magic enticed all within to live with him, if even for one night, in another world entirely.

And Zatanna had mostly followed in her father's footsteps. If anything, her stage illusionist shows were larger and more dazzling, her audiences usually numbering in the hundreds and sometimes in the thousands, though she still did her father's more traditional sized performances when it felt right or she had access to one of the old theatres.

But there were times when a day was sweetly baby eyed soft in spring with the promises of apple and cherry blossoms or when the great dome of the sky was that particular shade of autumn blue, crisp with the earthy scent of falling leaves and wet grass, that she felt the whispered call of quieter magics.

Those days she found herself in some city's park, cards in hands and sleight props in pockets.

Zatanna usually left her more flamboyant evening costume behind, choosing instead for something more casual but still invoking of a touch of magic to the mind. Usually a slightly flaring red lined black leather coat over a simple white silk shirt and black jeans over black leather boots. She kept her jewelry to sleek silver, her cosmetics to alluring rather than sultry, and left her hair loose and free, without her signature top hat.

She'd pick a park at random, enjoying the whimsy of it, and stroll down battered sidewalks or over leaf strewn grass while she played with her cards. Years of stagecraft had taught her the art of finding willing participants for her tricks and it never took long for her to find her first one.

Wryly, of course, she knew it never hurt that she was beautiful.

Her show was billed this month in Central City, which meant its parks held more families and college students.

Her first pick was a boy of about ten and her eyes sparkled in genuine fun as she mesmerized him completely with clever sleight of hand and eye-widening card tricks, his mom and dad grinning and catching his open mouthed amazement with their smart phones. She'd swept him a dramatic bow and left him excitedly chattering like a monkey at his laughing parents.

The next was a young couple, obviously new in love. She teased and coaxed them with playful close up, getting them to merrily pester each other into blushing laughter. Then Zatanna gave them a saucy wink, tipped an imaginary hat and left the two in each others' arms with the young woman still giggling.

The third was a group of college boys working on a group project. She did some of her most outrageously silly sleights, getting them first goofy and then on the grass in outright unabashed hysterics. It made _her_ laugh, which instantly got them flirting insanely as only young males could somehow manage. And in keeping with the pure game of it all, Zatanna promptly flirted insanely right back and each played ridiculously off the other and had the perfect time of it, until at last her blue eyes glinted delightfully wicked and she shook one manicured finger at them in mock reproof at the shameful neglect of their studies and left them trying to shout their phone numbers to her while being breathless from all the laughing.

And so the day slid by like the cards in her hands.

Zatanna found herself getting caught up in more than the joy of it. She also found she got swept up in the _challenge_ of it.

Illusions took absolute precision, careful preplanning and perfect timing to pull off right. Which meant there was allowed very little give _possible_ in a performance. There was almost a mechanical reality to it all, which Zatanna had always found infinitely amusing when performing illusions.

Close up work, however, was almost exactly opposite. Instant adaptation was _required_. Every performance was fluid simply because more variables came into play. A magician _had_ to think fast and twist in an instant with any random turn impish Fate gave. A gust of wind, a slip of the cards, anything could happen. And usually did.

Stage audiences, beyond the occasional volunteer, were a single breathing beast and performances reflected that amorphous generality. While all magicians rotated their repertoire, there was still always a certain sensation of _similarity_ to every performance from city to city because programs were set for show repetition and smoothness on the circuit of constant movement was essential.

But street magic was entirely ad hoc and the required intense personalization of this made for every performance being unique. Tricks were chosen for the _exact_ moment before those _particular_ eyes. Impulse and instinct took the fore and Zatanna found that there was almost a sensation of impromptu _dancing_ to it all.

She _loved_ it.

She loved finding people in the midst of their completely ordinary and utterly normal lives and sweeping them away into something _more_ , even for a few minutes.

Loved being able to _see_ their enthrallment, not just hear it out of the darkness beyond the lights. To see the way their eyes changed, became brighter with an almost innocent joy. To see the actual shift in their expressions and body language, the moment when they truly relaxed with all the giggles or laughter and became instantly _younger_.

She loved how it filled _her_ with a simple happiness she never would have thought possible off the fervor of the stage.

But most of all, she loved how it didn't take _any_ actual Power to do it _at all_.

Ironically, magic, like heroics, didn't always _need_ any.

The sun was slowly fading and the air turning almost chill by the time Zatanna began her blissfully tired way out of the park. Tomorrow she was scheduled for another stage performance but tonight she had only a quiet evening alone in her hotel to look forward to. Room service and a maybe another chapter in that book Constantine had given her.

For once, it actually seemed somehow the _right_ ending to the day.

And Zatanna smiled and made a promise to herself to do a little more street magic.


End file.
